


Flight

by bex_xo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, I'm really nervous about this one, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Post-Quiet Isle, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bex_xo/pseuds/bex_xo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The rest of Westeros might be enjoying the warming rays of sun that come with Spring, but here in these mountains the warmth comes more slowly. Ice still stubbornly adheres to the roofs of the keep, melting into puddles among the muck of the yard between the buildings. It's a mirthful thought as to how the ice clings here, as if it's protecting the last remaining daughter of Winter, as certain as Sandor is that the girl who claims to be another is one of their own."</p><p>At the command of King Jon, to work off the crimes he committed as the Lannisters faithful Hound, Sandor Clegane is set on a mission to the Vale to discover if the Lady Alayne Arryn is really who she claims to be, or if she truly is Sansa Stark in disguise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vanillacoconuts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillacoconuts/gifts).



The Eryie sits cold and desolate upon the Mountains of the Moon, it's three way castles perched within the mountains side, a long and treacherous way up from where Sandor stands at the Gates of the Moon. Even from here he can see the clear path from the fabled moondoor to where the bodies land, a crimson stain upon the rocky mountain terrain below.  
  
If he is discovered, he knows he will be taking that very same flight and the thought chills him to the bone. He carries a letter from King Jon Targaryen himself, declaring himself to be here on official business to the crown, but he knows that paper will mean little and less to Littlefinger if his real reason to be there is revealed. His reasoning little more than whispers and gossip, stories told from bloody knights of the Vale too deep in their cups to think much on telling these rumors to some stranger at an inn.  
  
Lady Alayne Arryn, born a Stone, a bastard of the Vale, claimed by none other than Lord Petyr Baelish as a daughter. Sandor found that suspicious enough, having the unfortunate pleasure of knowing the man for years while both of them were in service to the Lannister's. That was what seemed like a lifetime ago, and if the Elder Brother on the Quite Isle was to be believed, it was a different person who had worked with that slimy bastard all those years ago.  
  
The Hound was no longer, and Sandor was a man made new by his three years of repentance, digging graves with his spade, watching rock and dirt give away under the strength that he gained from years of swinging the sword. When Winter came even more of the dead came with it, the earth was frozen solid, even Sandor's strength couldn't break through the grass to bury the dead. Sandor had helped the silent brothers of the isle prepare the bodies for burning before fleeing to his crude hut before the flames sent him into a state of panic.  
  
With one last lingering and longing glance, Sandor turns away from the mountain and towards the keep where his three accomplices wait. Lady Myranda Royce is standing under an archway, her cloak pulled close to keep off the chill that still lingers here.  
  
The rest of Westeros might be enjoying the warming rays of sun that come with Spring, but here in these mountains the warmth comes more slowly. Ice still stubbornly adheres to the roofs of the keep, melting into puddles among the muck of the yard between the buildings. It's a mirthful thought as to how the ice clings here, as if it's protecting the last remaining daughter of Winter, as certain as Sandor is that the girl who claims to be another is one of their own.  
  
Following Lady Myranda down a series of halls, Sandor keeps his cowl tight against him, hiding his scars from wondering eyes, for as faithful as the Royce's have proven themselves to the Throne, there are many among the household who serve Petyr Baelish, and Petyr Baelish only. The Lady of the house leads him back, back, back into the farthest reaches of the her fathers keep, to the room where he would try and rest for the night, but more than likely would serve as a place to pace his nerves away.  
  
Opening the door, Lady Myranda urges Sandor inside before checking the hall for prying eyes, and finally crossing the threshold herself, shutting and barring the door behind her. Throwing his hood back and adjusting to the dim light from the fire in the corner, Sandor takes note of his two travel companions sitting around the small table near the fire.  
  
Ser Lothor Brune and Mya Stone had been members of the contingency who arrived in Kings Landing four moons prior, there to pledge their fealty to the newly reinstated Dragon King and Queen. Daenerys Targaryen, coregent with her nephew Jon Targaryen, as neither could rule effectively without the other, though they had both chosen to marry others. Jon fulfilled an unknown marriage agreement between Oberyn Martell and Ser Willem Darry, marrying Arianne Martell in thanks for Dorne helping to see their rightful rulers to their Throne, and Daenerys married her longtime lover, a Tyroshi sellsword named Daario Naharis, who had been by her side for many years, fought her many battles, willingly following her to the ends of the earth itself.  
  
Sandor had gone to Kings Landing on his own free will, there to admit to his crimes and praying for a clean death, and had been surprised when instead of being shown to the black cells, they offered him a room in the keep and a private audience with the King.  
  
Lady Royce had come forward with her suspicions that Alayne Arryn was not who she had claimed to be, under belief that the girl was truly the missing Sansa Stark, and provided enough information to sway the King into believing her tale too. Mya Stone and Ser Lothor had also proven witness to King Jon, giving accounts of their time with the Lady of the Vale, their distrust of Lord Baelish, and begging the King to take some kind of action.  
  
_“You asked for a clean death Clegane, to crimes you committed while in service of the Lannisters. You could have stayed on the Quiet Isle, living your life with the silent brothers, taking their vows, and no one would know the better. Yet you came back here, the place that you fled, to admit to crimes no one could possibly accuse you of, speaking of my sister -my cousin- with such passion and protection in your voice, it astounds me that you were even able to leave this city without her. So I come to you, as your King, as kin to Lady Sansa, unwilling to give you your request of a clean death, because I have use of you in another manner.” King Jon said in his solar in the Red Keep. Queen Daenerys sat on a chair near the desk, eyes trained on him, trying is best to gage his reaction to her nephews words._  
  
“I'll do what you ask of me, Your Grace.” He remembers saying, a sense of dread filling him at the mention of the little bird.  
  
“The party from the Vale leaves in two days time. We've heard some interesting testimonies from Lady Myranda and her companions, and there is considerable reason to believe that Lady Sansa is alive in the Vale, under disguise as Petyr Baelish's bastard daughter, married to Lord Harry Arryn, and has been going by the name Alayne for a considerable amount of time. Mya Stone and Ser Lothor Brune have agreed to stay back from the party, to travel to the Vale with you, where you will seek out this Alayne and find out if she truly is Sansa Stark.” The king had said, motioning to his steward to open the doors and allow who Sandor presumed to be Mya and Ser Lothor to enter.  
  
“And what shall I do with Lady Sansa, if this Alayne turns out to be her?” He half sneered. In his minds eye he could see her crystal clear, pressed deep into her feather bed, his blade upon her white neck, singing the Mother's Hymn.  
  
“Bring her back to Kings Landing in one piece, Lord Harry too if you have to.” The Queen spoke up, her violet eyes flashing challenge to Sandor from where she sat.  
  
“And what of Lord Baelish?” Ser Lothar asked, taking the words right out of Sandors mouth.  
  
“Subdue him if you have to, get out of the Vale with Sansa, force him to follow you here. He has many and more crimes to answer for, and the fact that he stayed behind the walls of the Eryie instead of coming to pledge himself has not gone unnoticed. Do this, and all your crimes will be forgotten.” King Jon answered, the Queen nodding her head in agreement.  
  
“Does Lord Arryn have any idea about this? About his wife? The bloody fool should be here, helping us plan this.” Sandor had said, damning the man married to the little bird.  
  
“No Clegane, as far as we're all aware, Lord Harry has no idea who his wife is. Truly, there is no love between them, just duty as husband and wife. He has two bastard daughters from prior relationships, and keeps the mother of his youngest as his mistress, choosing to bring her here as a serving girl and keeping his wife alone in the Eryie with Lord Baelish.” Mya had answered, bastard brave by looking him straight in the eye.  
  
“Why in the seven hells would you all be daft enough to leave Lady Sansa with Littlefucker? All that bastard did was sniff around her while she was held captive by the Lannisters, no doubt hoping to gain her favor and trust. That man is a snake, and you best hope he doesn't cross my path, because I'd love nothing more than the chance to run him through balls to brain.” Sandor had bellowed.  
  
Arrangements were made, and a fortnight after the party of from the Vale had departed the city gates, the small group of three left under the cloak of darkness, letters from King Jon proclaiming they were about his business and not to be harmed, given guest right, and a sack of coins to help them on their travels.  
  
“Clegane, there is much to discus and little time to do so. Please take a seat.” Lady Myranda says, ushering him to one of the remaining chairs.  
  
As he settles down into his seat, Lady Myranda pours him a cup of water, already knowing that wine would do more harm than good in this situation.  
  
“Much has happened in the time it took you three to travel here. As you know, Lord Harry fell ill within days of returning from the capital, dying not but a few days hence.” She says in a somber voice, gesturing to her black mourning gown, which was so low cut it made her look more a serving wench than the lady of a keep, her teats nearly spilling out of her gown as she leaned forward.  
  
“The maester assumed it was a spring chill at first, but after our dear Lord Harry died, he proclaimed it was poison and Lady Alayne -erm- Lady Sansa that is, was locked up in one of the towers by order of Lord Baelish. He proclaims that his daughter was jealous of her husbands mistress, and decided to kill him, claiming the Vale for herself. He said he should have never married her to Lord Harry, her bastards blood making her jealous and irrational, and that if he had any idea of what she had planned, he would have put a stop to it.”  
  
It was not in the little birds power to kill, no matter what horrors befell her, she endured. There was that one wild moment, so many years ago, when Sandor had stepped between Sansa and Joffrey on the battlements after that little shit of a king had shown the girl her fathers head on a spike. She had a desperate look in her eyes, and he had known right away what she had planned on doing. In the moment it took him to step in between the girl and his king, it wasn't Joffrey he was saving, but the little bird instead.  
  
“What does Lady Alayne have to say?” Mya asks, her hand intertwined with Ser Lothors.  
  
“She asserts her innocence and insists she's being framed. There is to be a trail after the mourning period. Until then she'll be held in her tower.” Myranda answers, before taking a generous gulp of her wine.  
  
“When will the mourning period be over?” Ser Lothar inquires, rubbing him temple with his free hand.  
  
“A fortnight. We need to act before then. Baelish had once again proclaimed himself Lord Protector of the Vale, and mine uncle is ready to rage war against him over it. First the death of Lady Lysa, and then our little Lord Robert, and now Lord Harry? All too convenient says Bronze Yohn.”  
  
Sandor nods his head in agreement. Of all the years he served the Lannisters in Kings Landing, Petyr Baelish had been there for most of it. The man had a way of making almost everything work out in his favor, except for getting the hand of Catelyn Tully when he was a boy that is.  
  
Draining his cup of water, he settles back into his chair, following the conservationist between the other three. Mya has long been traveling the Mountains of the Moon, her and her donkeys bringing travelers and supplies up and down the cliff side for many years, so the girl will be the one leading them on their way up to the Eryie. His accomplices are discussing which towers are most likely to be holding the little bird, and how to get her out without raising alarm to Baelish, all things Sandor thinks best to leave up to them, since he's never stepped a foot inside the castle.  
  
There's a question thats been sitting on the tip of his tongue for weeks now, and while he's taken their word at this Alayne being the little bird, he's yet to hear any proof of such things.  
  
“Tell me, and tell me true. How is it that you have come to believe that Alayne Stone is Lady Sansa? You've all said the girl has never so much as said a word about being someone else, and yet you all believe she's not who she claims to be. I quite like my head on my shoulders you know.” He rasps, resting his arms on the heavy wood of the table in front of him.  
  
“It's not your head I'd be worried about Clegane. You'll be taking a long flight out of the moondoor if we get caught.” Ser Lothor says, with a certain amount of authority in his voice.  
  
The two women however exchange looks, before Mya nods to Myranda, urging her on.  
  
“Oh, all right. I'll tell him.” The widow replies, pouring fresh wine into her goblet before turning to face Sandor.  
  
“Petyr Baelish believes that he will rule both the Vale and the North if he marries Lady Sansa. We believe he planned on having Sansa declare herself as such before her marriage to Lord Harry, but then the Targaryens came along, with their dragons, and Sansa's bastard brother turning out to not be her brother at all. It threw some unforeseen circumstances into the mix, and Alayne married Harry instead of Lady Sansa.”  
  
“That doesn't explain how Baelish thinks he will marry Lady Sansa. She's acting as his bastard daughter, and even if she declares herself, she holds no claim to Winterfell. Her brother Rickon is the lord there, returned to his seat by the onion knight. The Manderlys and the Mormonts and the Umbers all help in restoring and running the keep, sharing regent duties till the boys of age.” Sandor says, thinking on one of the conversations he had with the king before he left the capital.  
  
“We know. Lady Sansa would become Rickons regent, and by proxy Lord Baelish would rule through them.” Mya says before Myranda cuts her off.  
  
“You wanted me to tell him Mya, so hush!” The lady of the keep exclaims, throwing her arms up in exasperation.  
  
“As I was saying. I've questioned many guards and serving girls these past few months, searching for any answers they will give me.”  
  
“Yeah, 'questioning', I'm sure.” Mya snickers under her breath.  
  
“No better than what you've done with your knight there Mya.” The busty brunette snaps, rolling her eyes and giving Mya a dismissive wave of her hand.  
  
“ _Anyways_. One of the maids informed me that she had found a cloak with the Stark sigil sewn onto it in a trunk some months after our Lord and Lady were wed. It looked unused, and when she had brought it to Lord Baelish, he paid her quite nicely to keep quite about it.”  
  
“So how did you get her to tell you?” Sandor asked, not sure if he really wanted the answer he knew his host was capable of.  
  
“You'd be surprised how easy it is to get information from someone after you've had your mouth on their cunt. A good orgasm is a sure fire way to find out most any secrets.” Myranda says with no shame, just a sly smirk on her face and a twinkle in her eye.  
  
“Myranda!” The blue eyed bastard girl exclaims at her friend, causing her knight to jump slightly in surprise.  
  
“What? I let her return the favor as a reward for helping out her mistress. Anyway, she didn't taste half as good as you do dear, nor was her tongue quite as talented as yours Mya.”  
  
Sandor nearly chokes on the water he had just sipped into his mouth, sputtering it onto himself while trying to regain his composer. At least the smaller girl has the decency to blush at the brazen words of her friend, but the way the knight hardly reacts leads Sandor to believe that he's more than aware of the nature of the the two woman's relationship. The blushing must be for him then, he surmises as he takes another sip of his water to clear his throat.  
  
“Any other proof?”  
  
“This might be uncomfortable for you to hear, but you asked. I helped get Lady Alanye ready for her wedding, assisted to the bathing and dressing. Her hair on her head is a dull nut brown, nothing distinguishing, nothing to stand out. Her eyes are the same shade of blue as the Lady Lysa's were, so noticeable a Tully feature, the brown hides them somewhat, but when you really look at them, you can see it. But the hair between her legs... it's a bright red, something that has stuck with me for years Clegane. It was all the proof I needed.” Myranda tells him, and he immediately tries to stop himself from thinking about what lies between the little birds legs.  
  
He is a man though, and he's spent many a night thinking about that very thing, the old dog he is deep down still. He feels his cock twitch in his breeches, and breathes through his nose to calm himself down enough to go on.  
  
“So Littlefinger plans on declaring Sansa as Lady Stark and marrying her, gaining the Vale through her dead husband and the regency to Winterfell through her?” Sandor asks, putting it all together for himself.  
  
“That's the idea.” Mya sighs, looking up from where her eyes have been trained to the floor, the blush receding from her face finally.  
  
“Then why lock her up in a tower and frame her for murder?” The one part of the plan that he's struggling to understand in all this.  
  
Ser Lothor speaks up now, breaking his long held silence that he fell into early on into the conversation. “From what I know of the man, which admittedly is little being that I was once employed by him, he has some sort of leverage over her. She's complied to all his demands for years, no reason for her to not comply to this one. That's why we need to reach her first.”  
  
“So when do we leave?”  
  
Mya's blue eyes light up, and Sandor notices it then, how she looks so similar to her father, the late King Robert Baratheon. He nearly chuckles when he takes the time to take her all in, shocked as he is that he never put much thought on it before. Between her black as night hair and crystal blue eyes, she reminds him so strongly of a young Robert he can't help but realize that this is why Cersei hadn't wanted her husband to bring his bastard to court. No one would believe that the blonde haired, green eyed children she was passing off as Robert's were anything but 100% Lannister spawn, and her lies would have come crashing down around her.  
  
“At first light. So get a good nights sleep Clegane, the Mountains of the Moon are dangerous to even the most skilled of us.” She says, standing up from her seat and making her way to the door, Lady Royce and Ser Lothor following close behind.  
  
Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, Sandor stood from his chair and stretched widely before taking a seat on the straw filled pallet that was his bed. After removing his boots, he walks over to his door, bars it shut and then adds a log to the fire, dropping it in at an arms length away. He places his sword to the side of his bed, before lifting the blankets and crawling underneath, willing himself to find some sleep.  
  
“Oh little bird, what did you get yourself into?” Sandor mumbles to himself before drifting off into an uneasy sleep.   


 

**Author's Note:**

> HEEYYYY! 
> 
> So lovely littleimagination had her birthday a few weeks back, and I told her I'd write her some Sansan for it. The little idea I had for a one shot turned into something much more, so instead I'm gifting her this short multi chapter fic instead. 
> 
> I've spent a lot of time with my head stuck in my copy of A World of Ice and Fire, and using the ASOIAF wiki as needed to get this as accurate as I can. I'm aware the language probably isn't perfect, so I do apologize for that. Also, I'm living dangerously here and this is not beta'd, so all the errors are my own. 
> 
> If you enjoyed it, please take time to let me know! I'm always very anxious in posting new works! Thank you all so much for reading!


End file.
